I always wanted to cross the Sahara, and the Gobi, by foot. But I didn’t. I did not swim the Hellespont. Didn’t ascend Mont Blanc. Didn’t read all the books I had to read. Ached to fly a Ford tri-motor anywhere, even to St. Louis, but didn’t. Did not modestly decline the Nobel Prize. Didn’t spend even one night at Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo. Not one.

Shepheard’s burned to the ground before I could afford to check in. That night, it became my code word for everything unobtained, undone.

In case there are a few things in your life you wanted but didn’t get, I offer as consolation The Impossibly-Perfect-Night-at-Shepheard’s-Hotel-in-Cairo Bathrobe.

Luxurious, thick, engulfing. Finer than any you have ever seen (as it should be). Discreet Shepheard’s logo. All white terry velour. Made in Turkey.